


why dont you socker punch him in the mind's nose

by quenive



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Stridercest - Freeform, What am I doing, boys being disgusting, davecest............., its like a fever dream tbh, technically not incest but yknow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 05:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12450873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quenive/pseuds/quenive
Summary: “Clink link to find out 10 most well kept secrets of an ethereal, immortal bird man. Dermatologists love him, don’t get us wrong, but sometimes they want to stick hormones into his bird feeder. The clickbait picture is of an 8 packed crow with biceps and gluts for days, glowing. Nuber 69 will SHOCK you.”“10 out of 9 users consume SpriteMix, the healthy alternative to human steroids.”“It’s literally just steroids. But snortable,”





	why dont you socker punch him in the mind's nose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mertrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertrash/gifts).



> i wrote this in an hour  
> im high as shit  
> im not editing this
> 
> this work is for mertrash, as is every piece that includes birdass. i stand by my ground that every davesprite will be for her <3
> 
> i might turn this into just lame chapters of shit i wrote while high
> 
> im gonna go shower bye

You pull the hood over your head and push your humongous wings through the hole in the clothing you made with a letter opener. They’re mostly feathers anyways, your extra overrated chicken limbs are too scrawny to get too stuck on simple cotton. The hoodie is atrocious, yet robust in its shape and content. No comparison would be able to show the viewer the extent of your homemade genius, but [this](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1hs4aPVXXXXXvXFXXq6xXFXXXC/Newest-fashion-font-b-men-b-font-women-s-3d-font-b-hoodies-b-font-Funny.jpg) is pretty close. You are pursuing a black type of romance to this item of clothing, which goes from loving it ironically to sniffing it and getting a big whiff of crow, then proceeding to furiously jack off to your own putrid scent, which you hate.

 

Dave got you some barbells. Being a kilo each and definitely something your hollow bones do not struggle with lifting, you roll one on Dave’s naked stomach. He flinches, but fails to protest.

 

“You tryina get me ripped,” he asks, channel surfing but never catching a wave.

 

“There is literally no better way of getting a six pack. I went from twink to semi otter in only a matter of WEEKS, and YOU CAN TOO. Find out how he did it!”

 

“You sound like Buzzfeed,” Dave rolls to the side and the barbell falls on the floor mat, producing a lound hollow clank neither of you spare neither a listen nor a care.

 

You slide your tail over his naked, hairy man legs. They never told you it was gonna feel like this, the people in charget for sprite programming. You know, the government. What is sburb…

It feels nice coiling it around them like a snake targeting his next meal. You hope they go blue. This anabronda wants a lot. 

 

Hoversliding over his horizontal body, you lean real close. Like real close, creeper level close, feeling his thin neck hairs on your lips and resisting the urge to laugh. Weed does not affect you the way it used to, granted then you were 13 and very nosy when it came to your brother’s stashes. You’re still 13. Lord knows how old the bird was.

 

You’ve been 13 for about ten years now. Wild. You never got that chest hair you wanted so desperately, a need so secretive only you know. So you smooth your palm over Dave’s, and whisper,

 

“Clink link to find out 10 most well kept secrets of an ethereal, immortal bird man. Dermatologists love him, don’t get us wrong, but sometimes they want to stick hormones into his bird feeder. The clickbait picture is of an 8 packed crow with biceps and gluts for days, glowing. Nuber 69 will SHOCK you.”

 

“10 out of 9 users use SpriteMix, the healthy alternative to human steroids.”

 

“It’s literally just steroids. But snortable,” then your floats cease, and you flop down on him. The weight has him flinching, but he soon wraps his arms around your frame.

 

“Just. How high are you right now,” you can tell he’s raising an eyebrow. You would too, if he asked.

 

“Hi,” you reply in a fluent germanic accent of a sort. “Hi, how are you?”

 

He smacks your sprite ass. It wiggles like jelly, which is also something it doesn’t look like it’d do. 

 

“Hot,”

 

“It’s Jamie Oliver, isn’t it?”

 

He glances at the TV, finally getting some UNREAL LIQUID…………………

 

“Man. Whoo,” he whistles, and it drags on comically long at first, but then it gets too long too fast and hellishly obnoxious and he runs out of air. You pap his cheek.

 

“Yes, sleazeball?”

 

“I want my oven preheated just like that lucky girl.”

 

You look at the screen and give an appropriately long whistle. You are sleazy as well, considering you’re using your high clone’s current disctraction to majicks up a bunch of orange dicks on his face. You turned his nose into one. He is going to love you in the morning. The expertly drawn pubes even look like his. Uneven. Natural.

 

“Hoo wee. Dame’s a complimentary builtin and everything. How much MONEY do you think he even GETS to have one of those on his show?”

 

Dave shrugs and smooches your nose. It’s slobbery. You sprite it off.

 

“Well, nothing now.”

 

“Oh right,” defeated, you sigh. “The whole armageddon thing.”

 

“Do you think we could ever slime him?” Dave attempts to soothe your longing for your celebrity star crush (right after DeVito, fuck, you’re getting mad blood orange balls thinking about his hairline).

 

“I don’t… DNA.” 

 

“Barbecue sauce.”

 

“You’ll make him too powerful. I have built in game senses for this sort of godplay. We use soy and vegeta, durable yet flabby. Can bench press two gerbils on a coat hanger with a bit of protein,” nodding, you trace a cock on his face with small pecks of your lips. It’s bobbly and apparently really ticklish, since he turns his face away and laugh. Disgustingly. He’s doing those snorts that grew into a habit this past year. It’s endearing but not when your neck feathers are full of his snot. Speaking of which, you pull them out from the hoodie’s collar. They poof out and hit him in the face. He spreads them to look up at you.

 

“You’re the egg donor? For, y’know,” he flexes. “Protein.”

 

“Non fertilized. My children are not becoming a TV Chef’s omelet.”

 

“Don’t compromize their future. Child stars rake in a molting featherload of income.”

 

You sit up and balance yourself on his shoulders, tail still coiled around his naked bod with the end of it flicking his flaccid penis.

 

“Where’s your fortune, internet famous mediocre webcomic illustrator?”

 

He flicks his own cock again for good measure. It is so soft, and bouncy, and frankly a lot more adorable than a penis should be. It becomes a thing at that moment, you taking turns to bump his dong.

 

“The real fortune is the friends we make along the way,” he says, obviously half truthing. “Our fans became our heritage.”

 

You smooch his lips and float off, once again floating thus rendering your wings useless. Why do you have them. Amputation seems logical by this point, but you don’t dare fuck up the balance your wings created for you. You are eternally fucked.

 

“No idea where your brain’s at,” you sigh, eyeing him channeling the channels once again. He lingers on a shark channel, breathing through his mouth, chest heaving like he’s terrified of oxygen shortage. 

 

You’re pretty certain he just forgot to breathe a few times during the night, and casually died. It happens when you’re immortal and breathing is excessive.

 

“Love,” he replies.

 

Post modern vapormetal in the distance, doing a cascade of. Getting louder, but it’s all in C minor, and the lyrics are from a rocky horror picture show song which lays on top of your tongue like a blotter. Jade is at it again. Please, you think to yourself. Keep her away from hash. You decide against bothering her.

 

Dave pauses at Tarzan, the series. The low budget episode thing.

 

You, Davesprite, sigh lightly and untangle from Dave’s body. You don’t expect him to react yet he makes immature grabby hands in your direction. So you indulge him, safe in the thought that he might lovehate these interactions as well as you do.

 

After all, he’s being constantly reminded of what he once was. You, on the other hand, look into the realm of what could have been. Both of those sweet and salty at the same time, like scandinavian caviar you got forced into eating by someone and ended up liking.

 

The real Sli- Dave Strider, is your Scandinavian caviar. You either love or hate it, and everyone has strong opinions of it one way or the other. So in a way, you’re the bird of prey clawing at his visual nourishment. It’s a mirror you kiss, and you feel so, so conflicted about it. You’re not the one to worry. Usually. But your mental health is taking a ground pounding.

 

He pulls you in and you hold each other as you continue gazing at the various misadventures of a simple man, beyond the movie, beyond the budget.

 

Might as well make the high good while it lasts. 

 

You add an orange dick on his ass.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
